


Power Play

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Therapy, more characters will probably show up later, therapy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The chronicles of Peter and Lydia's therapy sessions both in and out of their therapist's office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Play

**Author's Note:**

> I've yet to decide how long this will be, and just who else becomes involved. But if anyone needs some good therapy sessions, it's Peter and Lydia.

Peter hated therapists. He hated Stiles, who had set up this session, tricked him into his Jeep and refused to let him out of his sight until he and Lydia, who had apparently been informed of this insertion in the day’s schedule, had signed in with the receptionist. Peter had briefly considered simply knocking Stiles unconscious, but thought the better of it with Lydia around. After all he had done to her, an hour of feelings talk was the very least he could do.

As if he had spoken aloud, Lydia turned on Peter sharply. “I know you see this as idiotic and completely unnecessary, but I enjoy seeing you uncomfortable, so I am going to milk this situation completely and utterly dry.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the small, sideways smile on Peter’s face.

“Mr. Hale, this session is for both you and Lydia to voice your concerns over your relationship. If you have any concerns you would like for us to discuss…” Dr. Walder said, settling back in his chair.

Peter rolled his eyes, but made no response. He could feel this guy enjoying his discomfort. Like there was any way he and Lydia could even talk to this guy about what happened between them. If they told the complete truth, they’d both be thrown into the worst kind of psych ward. And as Peter had already gone through being involuntarily hospitalized, he was not planning on ever going back.

“Nothing?” Dr. Walder asked Peter.

Clearing his throat, Peter answered, “I’ll let her start, I guess.”

 “Okay, then. Lydia?” Dr. Walder turned slightly away from Peter. “Do you have anything you’d like to talk about?”

Lydia pulled out a stack of papers from her oversized purse.

“I have a list,” she said.

“Oh, dear God…” Peter sighed. It was going to be a long hour…

 

****

“There’s the psychotic werewolf a—and…the banshee….” Stiles’ words trailed off. “Yeah, that didn’t sound as strange in my head, but…” Again, Stiles’ voice ended more as a whisper than anything.

“Can you not, you know, _scream_ that out the window of your jeep in a hospital parking lot?” Peter groaned as he slid into the back seat of Stiles’ Jeep.

Lydia huffed from the front seat and indignantly threw her hair over her shoulder, but didn’t say anything. She knew what she was doing, and so did Peter. Silently, Peter willed— _begged_ —Stiles to avoid giving in to his habit of trying to fix Lydia’s every problem.

Stiles whipped around to glare at Peter. “What did you do, Assface?”

One day, Peter was going to strain a muscle in his eye socket from dealing with Stiles on a regular basis. “I didn’t do anything. I thought we were supposed to talk about are issues, so I _did_.”

“That doesn’t mean you spend fifteen minutes of the time talking about the Hale fire,” Lydia sighed.

“That was a major, traumatic event in my life,” Peter insisted, pulling his best face of innocence. For a minute, Peter thought he saw Stiles look at Lydia like _she_ had been overreacting.

But the moment of triumph for Peter was fleeting, because Lydia countered, “The question was about where _our_ problems started, but you made it about yourself!”

Peter shrugged. “That _is_ where it started for me. Or did you want me to bring up the whole you hallucinating me? Or maybe when we were in the hou—”

“No!” Lydia cried, cutting Peter off. Suddenly, Peter was extremely aware that Lydia had not actually told Stiles—or possibly anyone—about their kiss during a particularly charged hallucination. He couldn’t help giving her a knowing smile.

Visibly annoyed now, Lydia, keeping her eyes on Peter, was giving him a gaze that was just as fierce as it ever had been, but it was now accompanied by a slight look of embarrassment. She knew that he knew. “Start the car, Stiles. I need to get home…I haven’t let Prada out yet, and my mom probably forgot again.” She turned back around, her usual attitude back.

Peter considered telling her to make sure the gate was shut, but didn’t want to push his luck with her. He enjoyed annoying her, but he hadn’t actually considered what kind of interaction they would have after his “resurrection,” and he was sometimes acutely aware of just how abusive his actions had been towards her. Yes, he knew he was selfish and Machiavellian, but unless they had hurt him or his family, he tried to stay away from abuse.

He had failed to avoid it with Lydia.

Stiles looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but started his Jeep, murmuring something about privacy policies of hospitals and doctors and them being idiotic. Peter wasn’t paying attention—he had learned how to block the majority of Stiles’ never-ending flow of words.

 

****

“How was it?”

“Illuminating.”

Isaac didn’t look like he believed Peter, but knew he wasn’t going to get a better answer than that, so he didn’t bother looking up from the TV. _Teenagers_ , Peter huffed mentally. Even when he had been that age, he had hated teenagers as a general rule. However, he loved manipulating them. It was just so easy.

“Any news from Derek or Cora?” he asked as he made his way up the spiral staircase. Poetic fool that he was, he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of the loft after Derek and Cora left. He spent most of his days at the loft—but he didn’t like spending nights there. It reminded him of just how alone he actually was.

“No,” Isaac answered. “Nothing since last month.”

Isaac had been saying that for almost two months, but there was something comforting in Isaac’s inability to notice the passing of days, so Peter didn’t bother to correct him. He needed a cat nap.

He chuckled at his own joke before collapsing on the couch on the upper floor of the loft—the only thing left in the room.

 


End file.
